


Sit Still

by newtntommy



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Sick Character, sick richie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 16:33:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12112746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newtntommy/pseuds/newtntommy
Summary: Eddie takes care of Richie when he gets sick.





	Sit Still

**Author's Note:**

> eddie taking care of richie while he's sick is like my top headcanons for reddie good lorrrddd. please comment your thoughts :)

Ever since Eddie was able to walk, he’s been told about the risk of contamination for each and every object on earth. He knows more about types of bacteria than he does about sports. He knows that the diversity and count of bacteria is higher on sinks and other inanimate objects than on a human being. 

The facts his mother was so gracious to inform him on has him shivering at the mere thought of using a public sink. It was paranoia that consumed his entire being, and it made him go on rants and freak outs, which in turn leads him to pulling out his inhaler. 

After the clown situation, he’s learned that he’s not truly sick. Nothing was wrong with him, and he has an immune system as strong as any other teen boy. His lungs are normal, not in any way needing help to breathe. He was able to do anything his friends can do. He can run through the tall grass without a risk of an asthma attack or the inflammation of his allergies. 

Even after learning this, he was still hesitant on joining his friends on adventures like running through the sewers, playing tag in the tall grass, or hanging out on rocky roads full of obstacles capable of scraping his knees. He hates his mother for forcing this onto him, making him paranoid with bacteria count. He has no reason to worry about it anymore, but he still involuntarily does. 

He still reaches for his inhaler when something shakes him up, only to remember that it was just plain anxiety. He doesn’t have the willpower to turn off the alarm on his watch, signaling him to take his routine medication. He was so used to it, and turning off the timer was going to dig at him. He was going to have an empty feeling deep in his chest, knowing that something is missing. So, he keeps the alarm turned on, simply turning the beeper off when it plays. 

There are a few benefits to his old, yet ingrained life. There are things that he still holds tight around. For example, he keeps his hygiene intact. He washes his clothes, hands, hair, body, etc., making sure he is clean and safe from disease. Also, he keeps track of the sicknesses going around, taking the time to secure himself from getting it. It was instinct that he can’t fight off, but he doesn’t see it as a bad thing. What about not getting sick was a bad thing? 

He has an eye out for tells on people even remotely showing a hint of sickness. He dodges them like the plague, refusing to so much as look at them until they are better.   
So, he catches on quickly that someone in the group was sick. 

The early signs are slight, ignorable. Eddie pedals after his friends, always one to remain in the back when they are riding around in a group. 

The move is small, barely noticeable, but Eddie did. His eyes flicker over to Richie, watching as the taller boy jerks his handlebars to skim by the car at the last second. He chooses to not comment on it, watching as it happens again minutes later. This time, Richie barely moves out of the way. He had been too busy rubbing his nose against his upper arm. 

They are walking in the library, following Ben as he explains some oh-so-interesting tidbit of history. Dust is layered on the bookshelves, causing Eddie’s bogus allergies to flare-up. 

He eyes Richie, noticing how quiet the other boy was. His nose is red, and his eyes are puffy, and it takes no time at all for him to start a sneezing fit in the middle of Derry’s history section. Eddie jumps back at the sneezing, wincing at the sight of the wet germs in the sunlight. 

He goes behind Richie and grabs a hold of his shirt, pulling him away from the group. “Okay, sicko! We’re leaving before you get the whole town sick with your snot.” 

Richie scoffs, “I’m not sick. That’s just your imagination and paranoia in the back of your stupid head.” The words choke out of Richie like sandpaper, and Richie winces at the burning of his throat. 

“You do look awful, Richie,” Beverly perks up with a shrug. “You should be in bed.” 

“Shut it, Molly, I’m fine.” Richie coughs dryly directly after, covering his mouth with his elbow. Eddie is proud to see that Richie at least knows to not cough into his hand.   
“You’ve nearly ran into numerous things,” Stan comments. “Just lay down for today, and you’ll be right back up tomorrow.” 

“Guys…” Richie croaks out, but it seems that he used up his words. He makes a few more noises, growing angry with the loss of the ability to talk. He coughs like mad, and Eddie pulls him to the door with a goodbye call to his friends. 

Richie doesn’t go without a fight, complaining the whole time. It did nothing but make Eddie laugh at the way Richie got frustrated with the way his throat wasn’t cooperating with him. “Yelling at me isn’t going to help your sore throat,” Eddie taunts his sick friend. 

He doesn’t get a response, but he does hear a hard kick to the rocks on the road. Eddie guides them both to Richie’s house, walking into the kitchen where the medicine is held. Before that, though, he fills a cup with water and hands it to Richie, who takes it with a pout. Richie goes through a coughing fit, making it impossible to drink anything. 

Eddie groans at the manic cough. He sneaks a peek at the cabinets, glaring at the empty shelves with no medication. “Never thought I’d say this, but I liked it better when you were feeling up to complaining. Your cough is disgusting to listen to. It’s more annoying than your talking.” 

Richie finally stops coughing, taking the moment to breathe and drink the water given to him. “Doctors are usually way nicer to their patients, Eds,” Richie says with fake sadness in his eyes. His voice was still rough, but he can talk now.

“Doctors like it when their patients aren’t stubborn asses. I’m not a doctor, nor am I playing one. Your parents will take you to the doctor,” Eddie proclaims with his hands deep into the shelves. He smiles in victory when he finally finds a small advil bottle. He deflates when only two pills are in it. 

Richie scoffs from behind him, “They’re not going to take me to the doctor, Eds.” 

Eddie bites his lip, unsure of what to say. Richie’s parents aren’t exactly the parents of the year. He comforts Richie with silence, quietly handing over the medicine. Eddie freezes when Richie suddenly clutches at his stomach, groaning as he bends over. His hands grab at the sink and within seconds, he’s vomiting into it. The retching noises are disgusting, and Eddie grimaces at the sound, sight, and smell. 

Recollection of having the flu has him moving quick, removing Richie’s coke bottle glasses and setting them on the kitchen counter. He wraps an arm around the other boy’s upper back, and he uses his other hand to remove the dark brown curls from line of fire and the taller boy’s eyes. His nerves are on fire, fighting him to get away from the sickness. He shoves the thoughts back, focusing on being there for his friend. He chokes down a laugh at how Richie was actually ‘trashmouth’ right now. 

“Fuck…” Richie groans under his breath once he’s done throwing up. He leans heavily onto the counter, breathing deep and rapid. 

“You’re okay,” Eddie shushes. An insult comes close behind the comfort as always, but this time the insult doesn’t make it pass his lips. He makes sure Richie won’t fall before turning around and wetting a cloth. He presses it against Richie’s clammy forehead, and he can practically feel the fever through the fabric. 

Richie looks suspiciously at the cloth. “What are you doing?” 

“It’s what my mom does when I’m sick – legitimately sick,” Richie answers with a shrug. He uses a nail to peel Richie’s wet bangs from his face. “Does your mo- anyone do this for you?” Eddie winces at the mistake, but Richie caught it. 

“Yeah, and she also kisses me goodnight,” Richie snarks back. Eddie bites his lip, observing the other boy. 

He can’t imagine going through the flu without his mother. He was close to asking for death until his mother came to the rescue with caring eyes and a box full of pills. Yes, his mother was crazy for tricking him into thinking he was sick and fragile. Though, his mother was always there for him. She loves him. She’s crazy, but she loves him. 

Richie dealt with the complete opposite. Richie’s mother neglected him, starving him of motherly affection from already emptiness from his father not giving him a minute of the day. Neither of them cared a bit of what he was doing or where he was. 

Now, here he was, sick as a dog on the kitchen floor with no parent to look after him. He looks terrible and miserable, and he was close to falling down. His shaking feet not doing an ounce of effort to hold him. If it wasn’t for the counter and him, Richie would’ve long gone fallen onto the wooden floor. 

Eddie takes one more look at Richie, wiping a lone tear on Richie’s cheek. “You’re coming to my house,” he says firmly. Richie widens his eyes, and then squints from the lack of help from his glasses. 

“What?” 

“Come on,” Eddie says as he pulls the sick boy out the house. He grabs the glasses and hands them back to Richie. “You need more than advil,” he adds to explain himself. He gets on his bike, keeping it steady so Richie can begrudgingly hop onto the front. 

Richie whips his head around with a shit-eating grin. “You mean to tell me I get the help from Dr. K, himself? Oh, my heart swoons!” A cough follows his words, and Eddie has to help him stay on. 

“Yeah, I’m saving the world from seeing the great ‘Trashmouth’ Richie Tozier actually look like trash,” Eddie responds with a roll of his eyes. 

The ride to Richie’s house is short, but not short enough. Richie talks the whole time. It’s more annoying than usual, since coughing came out between every two or three words. A flu doesn’t silence Richie even a little, and Eddie shouldn’t be surprised. 

“I think I should become a singer with this sexy new deep voice I have. Don’t you think?” Richie hums. “Lure all the ladies in with my dark tone and words.” 

“You’re pretty great at creating nonsense. Your imagination is out of this world,” Eddie comments as he stops the bike. 

“Awe, you called me pretty!” 

“Which medicine will shut you up first?” Eddie thinks out-loud, once they get inside. He is thankful to find the house empty. He goes into the kitchen to look at the medication. He takes out a few bottles, measuring out the Nyquil. He wasn’t lying. He was going to knock Richie out. His running mouth was only going to lengthen his time being sick. 

“I heard the medicine of true love’s kiss – wait, no, that wakes you up. Nevermind! Please, give me something to fall asleep, so I can wake up with a sweet kiss from ya, Eddie spaghetti,” Richie sing-songs from his spot on the floor. 

“I wouldn’t kiss your hideous face even if you weren’t crawling with infection,” Eddie quips smoothly. He hands the measuring cup to Richie, guiding it to his lips. Richie obediently drinks it. As he does, Eddie checks Richie’s temperature. He tsks at how hot and clammy Richie’s face is. 

Eddie takes back the now empty cup, cleaning it in the sink. He looks back down to see Richie. The humor has lifted from his body, and he has his arms back around his stomach. He looks incredibly miserable again, and Eddie’s sympathy comes crashing through him like waves. 

“Get up, you blob,” Eddie orders softly, taking Richie’s hand and pulling him up. 

“I’ll sh-show you a blob,” Richie croaks out, sluggishly walking behind Eddie. 

Eddie holds Richie’s hand in his, even after successfully getting the sick boy back on his feet. He holds it as he cleans some of his stuff off his bed, and he continues to hold it as Richie lays down on the bed. Through all the coughing, Eddie still doesn’t let go of Richie’s hand. In the back of his mind, he wonders why is he allowing himself to hold Richie’s germ ridden hand. Why is he not planning to wash his bedsheets right after? Any other day or any other person, that would be his first priority. With Richie…he didn’t entirely care.   
The medicine was now kicking in, and it was kicking in hard. Richie was looking at him with tired eyes. Eddie smiles at how big Richie’s glasses make his eyes look. They made his brown eyes huge, and Eddie finds himself staring into them. 

The silence was intimidating, but Eddie did nothing to break it. He continues looking at Richie, who looks right back at him. Eddie runs a thumb along Richie’s palm soothingly, and he sees Richie’s arm twitch. He reaches up to move a pesky hair from Richie’s eye. 

“Thanks, Eds,” Richie whispers out with a tiny smile. 

“You know I hate it when you call me that,” Eddie whispers back. He really doesn’t. 

He keeps himself busy as Richie sleeps. He checks the sleeping boy when he hears him cough in his sleep. Every now and then, he gives Richie a drink of water before leading him back to sleep. 

It was weird seeing Richie sleep. The boy was as energetic and spontaneous as a firecracker. His comebacks were superb, and he was the funniest person Eddie has ever known. Richie made him laugh harder than anyone ever could. 

But there was a switch inside him. He can go from being ‘trashmouth’ to caring and patient. Back when they were about to be attacked by the clown, and he had been completely defenseless, Richie stepped in and been there for him. In that moment, Eddie believed that Richie would’ve done anything to protect him. He wouldn’t have wanted anyone to be there with him in the face of death than Richie. 

During that whole situation, he found himself gravitating towards Richie and vice versa. Each other’s names were called out by one another, fearing for the other’s life. Richie was the only person he found himself running to, and Richie welcomed him with open arms. 

Now, he was able to be there for Richie. Richie was going to be fine, which was exactly what Richie had told him when he had a broken arm with a deadly clown stalking over to him. 

Eddie’s flicker across Richie’s face as he bites his lip. He is back to sitting next to Richie, thinking a million words a minute. 

_‘Please, give me something to fall asleep, so I can wake up with a sweet kiss from ya, Eddie spaghetti.’_

Richie was the only person he imagined running to in the face of danger. 

Richie was the only person he imagined experiencing his first kiss with. 

Eddie moves forward, awkwardly balancing himself halfway over Richie’s sleeping form. He jerks back when Richie suddenly brings a hand up to rub at his left eye. 

Eddie admires the way Richie is like as he sleeps. The losers club has all had their fair share of sleepovers in the past, but not once has he took the time to really look at Richie as he sleeps. He’s never had a reason to. 

Shying away, Eddie places a kiss on the other boy’s forehead. He hates himself for wussing out, and he can already tell that he’s going to regret not doing it. His lips tingle at the touch, and his heartbeat picks up at the fact that he just kissed a most likely contagious person. 

“You missed.” 

Eddie widens his eyes, stomach twisting and turning when he meets Richie’s eye. He expects disgust ridden all over his face. He expects to be told that he never actually wanted a kiss, and that he’s not into boys like that. He expects to lose one of his best friends in that moment. 

What he gets is not what he expected. 

He spots pink cheeks and amused eyes. Sure, Richie’s face had already been tomato red, but it fits with the fond in his eyes. Eddie blinks when Richie curves his lips upwards, waiting for what Eddie ‘missed’. 

His palms are sweaty, his grip on the pillow above slipping slightly. The realization of the moment has him breathing so hard that he second guesses his fake need for his inhaler. Richie is giving him that look. He’s been given many looks from Richie, but nothing has been acted upon until now. It was all for shits and giggles before, but now there isn’t any of that. Richie was legitimately looking at him with nothing but fond and… what is that? He’s never been looked at in this way before. 

Then, Richie’s facial features seem to diminish as he looks away. 

No, he can’t have Richie looking like that because of him. 

Eddie readjusts his hold, and he swoops down and brings their lips together. The kiss is shy and stagnate, as the shock of first kiss sits in. Eddie doesn’t know what to do, what to move, how to move, etc. He’s left to guess, tilting his head to quietly breathe through his nose. He shivers when the lips on his start to add pressure, and he adds his own to match. 

It’s not that surprising that Richie’s lips are chapped. Based on his lifestyle, Eddie doesn’t expect for Richie to take care of himself. Plus, he drinks a shit ton of soda rather than water. He doesn’t mind though, since he’s too busy trying to figure out how to kiss. 

It’s fun, yet slow, both boys experimenting. Eddie feels a hand timidly hold on his lower arm. He straightens his back, placing one of his hands on Richie’s shoulder. Touching Richie’s skin really makes him realize what exactly he’s doing. He’s kissing his best friend. He’s kissing ‘trashmouth’ Richie.

The kiss ends, and Eddie fights from trying to continue it. He opens his eyes, and his cheeks redden when he notices the grin on Richie’s face. 

“I am intoxicated, Eds. You’re taking advantage of me,” Richie croaks with fake betrayal. 

Eddie sits back up, swatting at Richie’s laughing form. “Should do it again so you’d shut up!” 

“Help!” Richie calls out. “My doctor is taking advantage of me. I want my lawyer!” 

“Shut up, you complete ass,” Eddie scowls, moving down to efficiently shut him up.


End file.
